


You Are My Very Own Heart

by rthecynic



Category: Song of Achilles - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Everybody Lives, M/M, They defeat the prophecy yay!, fluff at the end, gay boys in love, mentions of torture, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthecynic/pseuds/rthecynic
Summary: Just a somewhat happy everyone lives AU. Patroclus figures out the prophecy at the last minute and begs Hector to spare not just his life, but the lives of three men.





	

“Please.”

That one word, so uncommon to hear on a battlefield, stayed the hand of his attacker for a moment. This surprised him. He hadn’t expected his plea to be acknowledged. Asking for mercy was a coward’s move. Warriors had no respect for cowards.

Yet, the man standing above him lowered his sword, his lips peeling back into a twisted smile.

“Well speak. Why should I spare you?”

“Aristos Achaion will kill you if I die.”

Patroclus did not fear for his own life, he feared for the man he loved. He knew in that moment that his death would lead to the prophecy’s fulfilment. He would start the chain of events that he’d tried so hard to prevent. So he tried again.

“Aristos Achaion will destroy you in this war. The Fates have foreseen it. But he will spare you if you spare me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Achilles paced. His thoughts were in turmoil. All he could do was pace. Patroclus was out there. Somewhere. Amongst the fighting. He wasn’t back yet. He should have been back.  
He cursed himself for letting the other take his place. He knew that Patroclus wasn’t a warrior. He had let his pride take over and allowed his lover to walk straight into danger. Even now, his pride would not allow him to take to the battlefield, to follow Patroclus and keep him safe.

The sounds of raised voices and hurried footsteps broke through his consciousness, snapping him back to the present moment. A chill ran through him, though he couldn’t explain it. Without thought, he was outside, searching the faces of the returning soldiers.

“Patroclus?!”

He fought his way through the crowd, his lover’s name on his lips, tumbling from them over and over, only ever met by a shrug or a shake of the head.

“Automedon!” 

He ran to the charioteer, the one who had promised to bring his Patroclus back to him.

“Where is he? Where is Patroclus? Is he injured? I must go to him…!”

“Prince Achilles…” the charioteer cut him off, his voice tense with worry, tinged with sadness, “I’m afraid no-one knows where Chironides is. He was lost in the battle sir. No body could be found, yet there is no sign of him amongst the troops. I am sorry.”

Achilles shook his head, stumbling back a few steps. He did not believe it. Could not believe it. Patroclus had to be here. He had to be safe. He had to be back with him; back where he should have been the whole time. 

He steadied himself, breathing deeply, before reaching out his hand for Automedon’s spear. The armies had retreated, the battlefield would be clear of combat until dawn. Until then, he would search. He would search the wounded and the dying and the dead. He would assure himself that his Patroclus was not one of them. And if he was, he would make sure to destroy every Trojan in Priam’s army.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours of searching yielded no results. A weary Achilles was forced to return to his tent when clouds obscured the moon and the dark forbade him further progress. But he would search again. He would continue searching until he found the answers he sought. He would not rest until he knew what had happened to his love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rays of light burst into his tent when he finally awoke. The heat of the midday sun was almost unbearable. For a moment, he forgot the events of the day before as his hand instinctively reached out to the other side of the pallet. Finding the space beside him cold and empty, the memories came rushing back and he bolted upright, a noise somewhere between a sob and a scream catching in his throat. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there for, but another presence in the tent made him focus. His head whipped around, hoping to see Patroclus in the entrance. Instead, he saw Odysseus. The man’s features were grim as he came to sit by Achilles’ side.

“Prince Achilles, I have some news.”

Achilles inclined his head slightly, motioning for Odysseus to continue. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He feared his pain would show in his voice. He could not show weakness to these other commanders.

“Hector was seen on the battlefield today. Prince Achilles, he was wearing your armour. The armour which, Automedon believes, you gave to Patroclus yesterday. There has still been no sign of your friend but…”

Odysseus paused. Achilles’ eyes were tightly closed, his hands balled up into tight fists, his entire body shaking.

The calm before the storm.

A tortured scream erupted from him, two fistfuls of hair were torn from his head. His hand shot down towards the scabbard at his side, but Odysseus was quick, staying his hand before he could cause any hurt to either of them.

“I’ll kill him!”

Achilles’ voice was more of a feral growl than anything human. Odysseus placed firm hands on his shoulders, holding him in place.

“Tomorrow, Prince Achilles. Tomorrow, you can kill him. For now, you must calm yourself. You must eat and rest. You shall need your strength and focus to defeat Hector. Do not let your rage hinder you. Do not let Patroclus have died in vain.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, there was no sign of Hector on the battlefield. Nor the next day, or the next day after that. Achilles was slaughtering Trojans at an alarming rate, but none of it could even begin to quench the fire in his gut. Only Hector could do that. Only Hector’s death would satisfy his need for vengeance.

It wasn’t until the fifth morning that Hector finally turned up. Achilles didn’t hesitate, no conscious effort was needed. He charged towards his hated enemy. Hector fled, but Achilles was closing the distance quickly. As Hector ran towards the walls of Troy, Achilles took aim with his spear. He threw it in a powerful high arc and it descended to pierce straight through Hector’s right thigh. The Trojan prince crashed to the ground, clutching at his leg. 

A few strides took Achilles to him. He knew he could have killed him with that single blow, but the rage inside him overpowered any mercy he would normally have shown. He wanted to feel the life drain away from Hector, wanted to watch the light leave his eyes. 

Hector raised his right hand, still holding its sword, in front of his face to shield it.

One swift strike from Achilles had that hand and its weapon lying two feet away in the grass.

No words were spoken by Achilles as he raised his weapon, ready to strike the killer blow with no hesitation. But then;

“Patroclus!”

Achilles’ hand halted at Hector’s cry, the tip of his blade a hairsbreadth away from piercing the Trojan’s chest. There was a moment of stillness, and then Achilles was upon him, his forearm pressed tightly down on Hector’s throat.

“What did you say?! How dare you say his name?!”

“H-He is st-still alive…” Hector managed to choke out, making Achilles fall backwards onto the grass. He sat staring at the Trojan, his eyes wide, his breathing heavy and gasping.

“He… He’s alive?”

His voice was heavy with disbelief, but hope shone in his eyes, desperate to win out. 

Patroclus might still be alive somewhere!

Hector chuckled, struggling to his feet.

“He is within Troy, taken prisoner by me. He is an interesting boy, to say the least. He asked for mercy, but not for himself. For you. And so I allowed him to live.”

Achilles just stared, not even making a move to stand, but as Hector approached him he snatched up his fallen sword and placed the tip of it at his enemy’s throat.

Hector gave a nervous laugh.

“Prince Achilles, I have no personal quarrel with you. I can no longer fight. If you spare my life, I shall return your Patroclus to you.”

Achilles slowly rose to his feet before lowering the sword. He knew that this could so easily be a trick. But if there was a chance of seeing his love again, no matter how dangerous, he would take it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hector led Achilles inside the walls of Troy. A huge building loomed in front of them – the home of Priam and his family. As they skirted the outside of this building, Achilles heard a rasping voice calling to him. He paused and turned back, his eyes catching on a barred window on the wall. He peered inside, hardly able to see anything in the gloom.

But he could see the outline of the man within and he knew.

“Patroclus!”

He reached in through the bars, entwining his love’s fingers with his own. He could see the beginnings of a smile forming on Patroclus’ face.

“I-It’s really you…?”

“It’s really me. I’m here and I’m not leaving your side again.”

The cell door slammed open and Patroclus’ eyes filled with fear, tightening his hold on Achilles’ hand.

“Achilles!”

Two guards grabbed Patroclus by the arms and tore him from Achilles’ grip. Achilles thought he screamed, though he couldn’t be sure. Nor could he be sure whether he screamed Patroclus’ name, or a string of profanities at the guards who took him. All he knew was that he could feel his heart being ripped away alongside the other man.

He ran, determined to get inside and find his partner. Hector held out his wounded arm to stop him, pointing to the top of the stairs with his uninjured hand.

The guards emerged, holding Patroclus up between them. Achilles stared at his friend as they pulled him down the stairs. He was caked in blood and dirt, angry red welts on his back a permanent sign of each and every cut of the whip. He was so skinny that Achilles could see the angle of every rib, the hollow of his cheekbones. His legs could hardly carry him, he blinked his eyes against the harsh light of the sun.

Achilles could feel the rage building up inside of him once more. Patroclus had been hurt and Hector was to blame. Yet again, his hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, but Patroclus’ voice convinced him otherwise.

“Achilles! Stop. Please. Don’t do this. You know what will happen if you do.”

“He hurt you!”

“I know. But you have to stay calm. You have to let him live. Achilles, you have to live. For me. Do not let your efforts today be a waste. Do not let yourself have saved me for nothing.”

Achilles let out a ferocious growl as he threw his sword to the ground. Patroclus needed him to live. He couldn’t kill Hector now.

He turned back to Patroclus and the guards, the anger contorting his face melting into a sweet smile as he met his lover’s gaze. One of the guards roughly shoved Patroclus forwards and he stumbled into Achilles’ waiting arms. Arms tightened around waists as they held each other as close as they were physically able, the rest of the world fading away as they were able to be together again. 

Achilles was the first to loosen his hold, though he did not break the contact that they had.

“It is time to get you home.”

Achilles shifted them until Patroclus’ arm was around his shoulder, wrapping his own arm around the other’s waist to keep him upright. They moved at a slow and steady pace through the city of Troy until they had passed through the gates and back out into the open air. As soon as they were free of the city, Achilles stooped to place his free arm under Patroclus’ knees and swept him up into his arms. He could not bear to watch him suffer any longer and Patroclus did not have any strength to protest. So the younger man clung tightly to Achilles’ neck, buried his face in his shoulder and allowed him to carry him home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they returned to camp, Achilles took Patroclus straight to the stream. He gently cut away the ruined clothing and helped Patroclus to lower his abused body into the shallow water. The man who was the greatest warrior in Greece, whose hands bore the blood of thousands of men, was gentle now. He took the greatest care as he washed away the blood and the dirt and the mud from his lover’s skin. His fingers ghosted over the scars on his back as he tried to ensure the wounds were clean. It was with a loving tenderness that he wrapped Patroclus in clean blankets to carry him back to the tent. It was with great patience that he sat and spoon-fed him a thin broth, helped him to drink a flask of wine.

The wine numbed Patroclus; he could hardly feel the pain from his wounds. His eyelids began to droop, he could feel the drowsiness overcoming him. But a gentle nudge from Achilles helped him fight it.

“No philatos, you must stay awake whilst I tend to your wounds.”

So Patroclus sat silently as bandages were wrapped around his torso, concentrating on keeping his eyes open. He couldn’t believe he was here, back at camp with his Achilles. He couldn’t believe he was safe. And they had defeated the prophecy. He had made it back alive and had convinced Achilles to spare Hector, meaning that Achilles would be alive with him. He reached up to caress his lover’s cheek, trying to ease the worry that creased his brow. Achilles lowered his head until their foreheads were touching, letting out a soft sigh. But Patroclus could feel him tense as he prepared to speak.

“For a moment I… I thought I had lost you.”

He pulled away slightly, letting his eyes rest closed for a few moments before they flew open as if struck by a lightning bolt.

“Patroclus don’t ever do that to me again!”

His voice cracked, but it still carried a sheer and terrifying force.

“I-I didn’t mean t-“ 

Patroclus’ words were cut off by Achilles’ urgent plea.

“Promise me Patroclus! Promise me you won’t ever do that to me again!”

Achilles turned a glare upon his partner, but his eyes looked more fearful than angry. Patroclus didn’t speak in reply, but leaned up to kiss him, letting his unspoken promise hang in the air between them. A sharp pain ran through the wounds on his back and he winced, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be close to the man he loved.

Achilles held Patroclus close to him, leaning into the kiss, almost hungry, just wanting him close. The thought of losing him had almost destroyed him and he never wanted to feel that way again. He would keep him safe, protect him, forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patroclus found that, despite his tiredness, he couldn’t sleep. Neither could he leave Achilles’ embrace. Every time he closed his eyes he was back there, trapped in the darkness. He could hear the screams of the other prisoners, feel the blood spilling down his back. His own screams echoed in his ears, refusing to betray Achilles, refusing to beg for mercy. As soon as he closed his eyes he could feel the overwhelming terror. A shiver ran through him at these thoughts, a choked sob caught in his throat. He clung tightly to the sleeping Achilles, trying to remind himself – to convince himself – that he was safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Patroclus awoke after a rather restless night he was still nestled in Achilles’ arms. He smiled at this, trying to cuddle himself closer. A part of him had expected to wake up alone, back in that horrible place. Or he had expected to wake up to find that Achilles had left him; he didn’t need to be burdened with a weakness. Warriors weren’t allowed to have weaknesses.

But Achilles was still here, assumedly watching him whilst he slept as his eyes were still trained on the wakening form, a sleepy smile on his face. He was still holding him, protecting him from any harm.

“Good morning, sweet Achilles.”

“Good morning philatos.”

Achilles helped him to sit and unwrapped his bandages. He commented that the wounds looked nasty, but not infected, then cleaned them out once more and applied fresh bandages. He fed him again, keeping Patroclus’ back held flush against his own chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Visitors arrived throughout the day, to check on them. Odysseus, Briseis, Automedon, Menelaus, Machaon. Truthfully, Patroclus lost track of them all. Everything passed in a blur. He was still finding it all difficult to believe. It had all happened so quickly and yet it had felt like an eternity that he had been away. He answered their questions, mainly with base answers such as a nod of the head or a shrug. Achilles turned them away quickly, pleading rest. They all understood.

Achilles asked Patroclus that night if he wanted to talk about what had happened. Patroclus didn’t. He knew that he would tell Achilles someday, but he didn’t want to do so right away. He knew Achilles would understand this. So they talked of his recovery and how they would swim in the ocean and walk in the forest and climb the sticky maple trees. They talked of returning to Mount Pelion, of seeking permission from Peleus to return to their studies with Chiron. But they both knew that what they actually did wasn’t important, so long as they faced it together.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this fic is ok. I've been sitting on it for a while because TSOA ripped my heart out and left me with an empty void. I needed something where the gays babies could ride off into the sunset and be alive and this is how it really goes in my heart.
> 
> I'm rthecynic on tumblr, come say hi :)


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